When
by immo
Summary: Noir fanfic. Kirika and Mireille. Not really a yuri/shoujo-ai fic. It depends how you read into it. There's not enough NOIR fanfiction out there!


title:When  
anime:Noir  
author:Immo (pronounced eye-moe)  
rating:G. Wow, eh? :D  
  
Noir fanfiction again. Mireille and Kirika. Not really yuri, it just depends on how you read  
into it. This is after the last episode *SPOILER*providingtheysurvived*SPOILER* (not really a  
spoiler, but whatever). Yeah NOIR!!!!  
  
  
"You got a haircut." Dark eyes played across the blonde's features. Mireille touched   
her hair, self-consciously. Strands of silky, spun gold. Just a little trim, that was all she  
got. Barely noticeably. But she noticed.  
"It looks nice." Kirika turned away, to look back out the window.  
When did this happen?  
Mireille ducked her face down, to hide a light blush that sprung to her cheeks at the  
compliment. When had anyone noticed the slight changes?  
When she changed outfits, Kirika would notice, give that once over that was  
altogether exciting, yet dreaded. Exciting because of that little thrill of anticipation from  
a little compliment. Dread, that the compliment wouldn't come. When had Kirika's opinion  
become so important?  
Mireille pondered, and sat in front her laptop, reviewing the newest assignment for  
Noir, yet not really. Kirika was already asleep, and Mireille imagined she could hear the  
girl's soft breathing above the hum of the screen in front of her.  
"You should go to sleep soon."  
The voice startled her, yet didn't startle her at all. It was comforting, sudden, but  
welcome. It was so long since she had someone care about how late she stayed up. And she  
knew, Mireille knew if she stayed up just a bit longer--  
Engrossed in her work, she looked up and saw Kirika standing across from her,  
studying the blonde.  
"Mireille,"  
When had anybody been able to do that, to just say her name, and she would submit to  
their demands?  
Mireille shut down the laptop, and smiled at Kirika. They slept in the same bed,  
Kirika on one side, Mireille on the other. Both of them were awake, listening to each other  
breathing in the quiet of the room.  
Sometimes, they would hear a car pass by outside.  
Sometimes, they would hear, somewhere nearby, a dog obeying some primal instinct it  
still held after centuries of domestication, howling at the sky.  
Sometimes... all they heard was the sound of each other breathing.  
And when had either of them enjoyed something like that? Enjoyed sharing the magical  
silence that the darkness brought? The simple joy of knowing someone slept beside you?  
Enjoyed the fact that, waking up would mean waking up to someone...  
In the morning, Mireille would make breakfast, and Kirika would stay in bed, awake,  
eyes staring blankly at the plain plaster ceiling.  
Mireille would hum a tune that she had heard the other day, and when Kirika finally  
came to the breakfast table, they would find that their tunes matched, were in sync.  
When have you sung a song, and found someone singing it with you, at the exact same  
time?  
When were words not neccessary to know how each felt about the other?  
When had a feeling of... belonging ensnared the two in its grasp?  
Sometimes... sometimes...  
Merielle would disappear, and Kirika would wait patiently for her to come back home.  
Home. Was that was it was? When had the tiny apartment, with the green plants kept alive by  
dutiful care, become home? When had that pool table that served as a desk become the familiar  
oddity to Kirika?  
And when did it become apparent to the russet-haired girl that the rush of...  
something, was relief? The rush of relief, that came up everytime Mereille came home. Kirika  
would almost quicken her walk towards Mireille. Stopping abruptly, almost too close to  
Mireille, a look of... something in her eyes.  
"Welcome home."  
And Mireille would smile. A tiny smile, just the barest upturning of the corners of  
her mouth. A smile, pink and glossy, her eyes showing that, despite the small smile, she was  
grinning inside. Beaming. Full-fledged joy.  
"I got you something."  
When had the giving of something involved so much joy?  
Mireille held a paper bag in her arms, and a snow-white kitten, batted the edges of  
the bag, stared at Kirika curiously.  
When had gifts like this, meant more than a gift? When had it been so important to  
be able to please the other.  
When had things stopped becoming self-centered, and became other-centered?  
Mireille took the tiny kitten out of the brown paper bag, cradled it, let the bag  
fall to the floor. Holding out the tiny thing to Kirikia, Kirika smiled. She took the gift,  
and in that brief instance, their fingertips brushed each others.  
And when had either of them felt a brief, calm pleasure course through them? Felt the  
pleasure of knowing that this person who had just touched them, had touched them in many more  
ways then before? Touching that exceeded the physical boundaries.  
When had silence been enough to please.  
When did the feelings transcend the reality of the body?  
The looks, every precious few words between them, all treasured and placed together  
in a place both of them could reach again and again for reassurance when they were lost in  
this world.  
A world full of power-hungry forces that threatened to tear them asunder, to rend  
them into memories, and the only ones who would miss them would be the kitten, and maybe the  
green plants flourishing by the windowsill.  
Watching Kirika play with the kitten, teasing the small ball of fur with a cat toy,  
a little stuffed mouse on string, Mireille watched, contented that Kirika was contented.  
Mireille didn't really like cats.  
When had the blonde been able to tolerate felines for Kirika?  
The day passed, dinner was eaten.  
When had dinner become so much less lonely?  
And they slept, while the kitten purred, and slept in between the two.  
When did they stop seeing the world without each other?  
When did Noir, revenge, and convenience, these explanations, been thrown out the   
window as explanations for the two remaining together?  
  
Then, a whispered question, in the still of the night, with just the two of them  
breathing. Three now. A purring kitten. Three, then. A question, spoken by one, echoed in the  
other's mind.  
"When did you become my world?"  
  
  
Note: Woah, huh? Woah. I dunno. Noir. Cool stuff. I was just thinking about it, going through  
some time. My friend's in the hospital, and (knock on wood) I was thinking what would happen  
if he never gets better. Scary thought. Then my thoughts drifted to my friends, and I don't  
know what I could've done without them, through everything I've been through. When had they  
become the things that made up my world? Why can I not imagine me without them? :P Sorta  
pathetic, but I dunno. I'm kinda sad. 


End file.
